In middle school and high school, I did everything I could to be seen.

I got good grades. I played sports. I was on the dance team. I acted in school plays. I wrote my own scripts. I kept showing up, kept achieving, kept excelling—hoping someone would notice.

Hoping she would notice but every time I looked into the crowd…My mother wasn’t there.

No matter how loud the applause, how full the auditorium, or how many people celebrated me, it didn’t matter—because the one person I wanted to see never showed up. That kind of pain doesn’t just disappear.

It lingers. It hides. It shape shifts into perfectionism, people-pleasing, emotional walls, and silent grief.

I thought I left it behind when I grew up, but I carried that wound into everything—my work, my friendships, my faith, and my relationships.

I smiled through disappointment. Met expectations that crushed me. Overachieved to avoid feeling unworthy.

Then, I became a mother and everything I buried rose to the surface.

All the questions I never asked.

All the love I never felt. 

All the softness I had to teach myself just to parent from a place of peace.

Becoming a mother made it clear...I couldn’t raise someone in love while still grieving the love I never received. 

I had to heal. Not just for my child but for me. I couldn’t keep bleeding from invisible wounds and calling it strength. I had to stop performing. I had to start telling the truth.

That’s where this journal was born.

On my note pages. In the quiet. In the parts of me I never let anyone see.

This journal is for every woman who’s been carrying the silence.

Who’s been doing everything right and still feels like she’s not enough?

Who’s ready to finally feel seen...by herself.